Friday, August 31, 2012

First off, it’s worth noting that despite titular indication and Paranormal Activity’s Oren Peli on board as a co-writer/producer, this is not another entry in the “found footage” sweepstakes. Granted, there are some instances of cell phone recordings illustrating previous offscreen scenes’ mayhem, but for the most part this is a straightforward narrative about a group of college grads concluding their whirlwind European tour with a trip to Kiev; within said stop, they swap out their Moscow plans for an “extreme tourism” excursion into Pripyat, the neighboring town of ill-fated Chernobyl, the real-life epicenter of a nuclear reactor meltdown in 1986.

Parker develops an impressive atmosphere of gloom and desolation amidst the deserted – and still radioactive – town, as well as some engaging sequences of attack and retreat by unidentified, and perhaps supernatural, antagonists. Instead, it’s the three-headed screenplay (Peli, Carey Van Dyke, Shane Van Dyke) that proves the weak link, failing to deliver a satisfying “why” to the strange occurrences. The result is a series of creepy boo scares that lack resonance, dissipating within the cold light of cinema lobby hindsight and reflection.

From the writer/director of Suicide Club, Hair Extensions and Himizu comes this wicked black comedy about milquetoast husband Mitsuru Fukikoshi drawn in by charismatic rival fish shop owner Denden, only to have him and wife Asuka Kurosawa instantly exert authority over the milder man’s personal life. And when we say personal, we mean it: child appropriation, spouse molesting, and that’s all before the multitude of murder to which Fukikoshi finds himself an unwitting accomplice.

Sono miraculously balances the increasingly desperate scenarios with an exuberance that buoys the disturbing subject matter, Denden and Kurosawa’s joyous high-wire psychotic enthusiasm driving the breakneck narrative so fast that we, like our hapless protagonist, can barely make sense of it all. Brought to you by the good folks at Sushi Typhoon, this is closer in tone to Takashi Miike’s Visitor Q than, say, the splatterfests of Battlefield Baseball or Machine Girl.

Hands down the most mismarketed movie of 2012. I freely admit that, based on the “Man, weren’t the 70s kerrrr-aaaaazy?” trailer that Warner Bros. was using the push Burton’s latest Johnny Depp lovefest, I was already dialed in to hate this sucker right down to the ground, and I’m not even on intimate terms with the source material. (Even though Dan Curtis cult television incarnation had monsters in it, my six-year-old spidey senses still knew it was a soap opera.) The truth is that while there are a fair share of groaners (hidden passages revealing rooms filled with macramé, endless 70s musical references incorrectly assessed as inherently funny), the tale of Depp’s revived Barnabas Collins and his reintegration into society after 200 years of vampiric slumber is an energetic, elevated comedy that, for the most part, works. Sure, Burton allows his star to occasionally overindulge in supercilious line readings and it’s hard to believe the classy Collins clan would indulge in the decade’s tackier décor – in short, when Burton goes for the cheap laugh, the movie falls flat. But when he and his A-list ensemble (which includes Michelle Pfeiffer, Helena Bonham Carter, Eva Green, Jonny Lee Miller and Chloe Marie Grace) stay within the exaggerated fantastic lines drawn, the results are surprisingly satisfying.

Setting a found footage film within the particular circle of hell that is “party-hearty 14-year-old girls” is a daring enough premise as it is, since it is bound to test the patience and empathies of anyone who is not a party-hearty 14-year-old girl. We are introduced to shy, decent Amber Perkins and tramptastic mean girl Rachel Quinn – somehow inexplicably BFFs – through cell phone chats and self-recorded video footage, but when Quinn is presumably kidnapped by a social network stalker, it sends shock waves through the community, particularly for odd duck Perkins.

Thursday, August 30, 2012

I’ve been meaning to revisit this largely ignored Corman feature (surprising, considering how well the majority of the B-king’s AIP horror features have been kept alive via MGM’s Midnight Movies collection) for a while now, first brought to my attention by Bruce Lanier Wright’s excellent tome Nightwalkers: Gothic Horror Movies and procured via the internet gray market a few years back.

Inspired by the Bridey Murphy phenomena of the ’50s, screenwriters Charles Griffith and Mark Hanna introduce to us streetwalker Pamela Duncan, hired by a spiritualist to explore her past lives through hypnosis. We follow her back through the ages to a non-specified time – let’s call it fairy tale land – where Duncan is accused of witchery, a charge furthered by romantic rival Allison Hayes (Attack of the 50 Foot Woman), who actually is a witch. Along the way, we also encounter thickheaded minstrel/gravedigger Mel Welles (Little Shop of Horrors), Billy Barty as Hayes’ grating silent-laughing imp, and inimitable character actress Dorothy Neumann as helpful hag Meg Maud.

It’s a whole lot of nonsense, but like the majority of Corman’s efforts, it’s well paced and entertaining nonsense, directed with energy and vision.

In the first story, “Dr. Heidegger’s Experiment,” old coots Price and Sebastian Cabot (via some dodgy old-age makeup) discover a youth-restoring elixir. When it also revives their long-dead sweetheart Mari Blanchard, romantic rivalries are sparked anew.

“Rappuccini’s Daughter,” the best of the bunch, offers the dark fable of an embittered scientist (Price) who infuses daughter Joyce Taylor with the essence of a toxic plant, making her touch lethal to human contact. All this plays havoc with suitor Brett Halsey’s social life, as he learns that his first kiss with the lovely lass could be his last.

The final tale, an incredibly truncated version of “The House of the Seven Gables,” follows the scheming Pynchon family searching the ancestral mansion for a hidden inheritance, amidst family curses, ghostly music, and otherworldly lovers. This dramatically uneven segment features spectral effects both impressive (model houses imploding in slow motion) and ridiculous (Price lamely throttled by a disembodied skeleton hand).

As anthology films go, this is by no means a disaster, just not terribly inspired.

Having heard about this supernatural thriller for several years on the interwebs, I finally reached out to writer/director Steele who was gracious enough to pass along a review copy. Having finally viewed it firsthand, the DVD companies’ reticence is understandable, as this is a difficult film to categorize and harder still to sell. Within its intriguing premise (young woman Marianne Porter mysteriously returns home after a year-long disappearance, crippled with disturbing visions…or are they memories?), there is much to equally recommend and repel.

Oil rig worker Michael Shannon starts experiencing horrific visions of an apocalyptic storm to come – is he a prophet or merely going off the deep end? Nichols, who directed his own script, keeps us guessing at all times, injecting Shannon’s schizophrenic mother (Kathy Baker) and a healthy dose of self-doubt into the mix, further complicated by his protagonist’s refusal to confide in an understandably frustrated wife Jessica Chastain. Things come to a head when Shannon begins expanding the backyard tornado shelter, an endeavor that strains not only the family finances, but the understanding of his community. A slow burn to be sure, but Nichols and his star hold our sympathies and attention throughout.

Stylistic and visually dynamic dark fantasy about an eminent plastic surgeon (Antonio Banderas, in fine form) who loses his wife in a car crash, shortly after which his emotionally precarious daughter is sexually assaulted at a party. These two tragic events spark the remainder of the eye-popping narrative, which deserves to unfold organically without any further extrapolation on my part. However, I will say that one should probably check one’s logic circuits at the door, because several plot machinations don’t hold up well to close scrutiny, as dramatically delicious as they might be. The extraordinarily fetching Elena Anaya (Room in Rome), when not sporting her birthday suit, spends a welcome amount of time in a skintight body stocking – a seemingly exploitative move that achieves deeper resonance with repeat viewings.

I first heard about this feature via the pages of HorrorHound, where Craven described it as being a project where he was given complete creative freedom to do whatever he wanted. If that truly ended up being the case, the man should never be left unsupervised again because not since the doldrum days of Deadly Friend or Shocker has the writer/director so profoundly bungled the task at hand. The scattered yarn features a revived serial killer stalking a group of youths who were all born the night that he was shot dead by police 17 years prior. Lazy, sloppy, often incoherent plotting takes turns with snoozy kills, with Max Theirot’s social reject acquiring the consciousness of his expired peers for no apparent reason or payoff. A real strikeout.

Combating a plague-like virus being spread by the common cockroach throughout NYC, genetics engineer Mira Sorvino whips up a new strain of insect, the Judas Breed, which disguises itself as its prey before devouring it. This new species has been engineered to die out after one generation, but (surprise!) things do not go as planned – three years later, a mysterious rash of murders is taking place in the Manhattan subway system, the perpetrators being the mutated offspring of the Judas buggies who have now developed the ability to camouflage themselves as humans.

Much has been made of the Weinstein brothers’ studio interference with del Toro’s original vision (a “director’s cut” has been recently released to Blu-Ray), and while I have not yet seen this version, my biggest issues with this often engaging creature feature has nothing to do with deleted scenes or plotlines, but rather with the ridiculously banal dialogue spoken by the capable cast (Jeremy Northam, Josh Brolin, Charles S. Dutton, Norman Reedus and F. Murray Abraham) and the ill-advised attempts at quirkiness, Alexander Goodwin’s spoon-slapping autistic being the most blatant offender. The Rob Bottin-designed “Long John” bugs – one played by del Toro regular Doug Jones – are memorable, although the darkly-lit scenes rarely show them off to their fullest effect.

Overall, not a bad movie, but also not one I have a lot of nostalgia for. Drive Angry’s Patrick Lussier served as co-editor, with the director and Matthew Robbins adapting Donald A. Wollheim’s short story.

Mimic 2 (2001) d. Jean de Segonzac (USA)

The lone carry-over from the original cast, Alix Koromzay stars as an obnoxiously unlucky-in-love entomologist moonlighting as a public high school teacher who discovers her place of employ is ground zero for the latest infestation of the Judas Breed. For a straight-ahead “B” monster movie with limited funds and ideas, I actually enjoyed this more than I expected to. Not to say that it’s “good,” but still reasonably enjoyable cheese with far fewer pretensions and Oscar winners than its predecessor. Special effects makeup wiz “Gruesome Gary” Tunnicliffe whips up some wicked splattering, scattering and skittering sequences.

Mimic 3: Sentinel (2003) d. J.T. Petty (USA)

The most remarkable thing about this second sequel is how well it conceals its presumably meager budget constraints with a story that focuses more on suspense and what we don’t see than on big bug beasties romping through every scene. Writer/director Petty, who knows a little something about stretching a dollar via solid characterization and atmosphere (Soft for Digging, S&Man, The Burrowers), offers up a variation on Hitchcock’s Rear Window as much of the action is perceived from the window and camera lens of Karl Geary’s shut-in, a victim of his own weakened immunological system. The less-is-more approach may not appeal to those looking for a quick beer n’ pizza creature feature, but it’s hard not to admire Petty’s spin on the material and the big-bam-bloody-boom finale (ignoring, of course, the WTF happy ending coda).

Adapted from Seth Grahame-Smith’s novel by the author himself, this bit of tongue-in-fanged-cheek alternative history posits the 16th President of these United States (Benjamin Walker) as a man seeking lifelong vengeance upon the undead creatures that claimed his parents’ lives as a child. From the opening titles, we know we’re in for a fantasy, and Bekmanbetov – who dazzled me years ago with his epic Russian Night Watch and Day Watch features – is a supremely successful visualist who expertly combines a drained color palette which invokes the austerity of time gone by with eye-popping stunts and blood-drenched vamp offings. (Rail-splitting Honest Abe’s selection of an axe as his weapon of choice also had me smiling.) Perhaps not as much “fun” as it could have been, but I appreciated the fact that Grahame-Smith and Bekmanbetov treat their outlandish subject matter as straight-faced as could be imagined. With Dominic Cooper, Rufus Sewell, Mary Elizabeth Winstead and former Late Show with David Letterman “Lyle the Intern,” Jimmi Simpson.

You know what? I’m not even going to review Roth’s divisive flesh-eating virus/cabin in the woods mash-up, not here, not in an official capacity anyway. First off, we’re got an in-depth discussion about the film over on Kitley’s Krypt as part of their Cinematic Crossroads program (a raucous round-table that includes Herr Kitley, Liquid Cheese 's Dave Kosanke, Big Gay Horror Fan 's Brian Kirst, Dead Weight writer/director John Pata and myself) which covers more ground with more divergent opinions.

Secondly, I think it’s pretty fascinating that a flick I initially hated upon first viewing I’ve now seen on three subsequent occasions, as well as listening to all four (count ‘em FOUR) commentary tracks. As a result, my relationship with the film has changed; I’m now so familiar it’s like an old schoolmate. Interestingly enough, my feelings toward Roth have undergone a veritable roller coaster of status updates. At first, I liked him/hated his movie. Then I hated his movie a little less/liked him a little more. Liked him less as he entered his "Tarantino Jr." period but liked Hostel more than CF, then really didn’t like him, his Hostel sequel or his undeserved ubiquity in every horror-themed documentary or TV show. Nowadays, I’m somewhat sad that this horror geek-done-good has turned into a Hollywood player who’s seemingly lost touch with his roots and moxie. He’s directed a mere three features in a decade, dividing his time between “developing” projects that consequently implode and serving as a “presenter” of mainstream fright fare. Curious to see what the future holds.

There are some smart ideas going on in Scott’s return to the Alien universe (screw the Fox marketing department dancing about – this is a prequel; quit trying to have it both ways, jerkfaces), but the wealth of missteps in terms of characters’ inconsistent and/or irrational behavior ultimately proves the more distracting of the two sides.

There’s little denying the strength of the visuals on display, and the CG landscapes are jaw-dropping in their detail and austerity (the keyboard-spawned creatures are decidedly less successful), but the human drama that elevated early efforts like Alien and Blade Runner above their production values is notably absent. Prometheus’ flatly drawn characters are incapable of generating empathy or interest (especially within the maelstrom of Christian symbolism – given great illustration here http://cavalorn.livejournal.com/584135.html).

Mostly, I found myself wishing Scott had possessed the courage to create a stand-alone return to sci-fi instead of shoring it up with constant referencing of his 1979 xenomorph zeitgeist, since these details only served to detract and distract from the matter at hand. Our Space Jockey, once a sublimely fascinating enigma, has been transformed into something so crushingly literal – I mourn I’ll never be able to unsee what I have seen.

And for those looking for a bit of a laugh, check out this bit of alternative screenwriting (spoilers ahead) HERE

Monday, August 27, 2012

After all the hype and build-up over the prospect of six promising horror
directors contributing their talents to an anthology film, the result is a
crashing disappointment – a collection of not-bad shorts that bear no commonality
except their unified missing of presumed dramatic targets.There’s not a true stinker in the bunch
(though Jeremy Kasten’s ridiculously literal, Udo Kier-featuring framing
devices might just as well been left on the cutting room floor), and equally
so, there is not one of the five tales that rises above its middlin’ brethren.

All exhibit squandered promise, and the fault
for the most part lies in the disparate scripts (written or co-written in five
of the six cases by the directors) that lack a true punchy punchline among
them.Richard Stanley’s “Mother of
Toads” has atmosphere galore – and Catriona MacCall – but drives a
frustratingly straight narrative line of a witch bewitching her victims.Buddy Giovinazzo’s “I Love You” has the
opposite problem, wearing a hole in the carpet over its thin breakup story, and
Douglas Buck’s polished “The Accident” lacks any real horror at all, content
with depicting what happens when motorcycle meets Bambi.Tom Savini’s “Wet Dreams” (with script by
John Esposito) comes closest to actually delivering goods promised, as James
Gill continually experiences nightmares of gruesome emasculation; by contrast,
David Gregory’s “Sweets” has little to no story at all –just a calorie-busting
freak show.Karim Hussain’s “Vision
Stains” possesses the most intriguing premise of the bunch – a female serial
killer who steals the intraocular fluid of her victims and injects it into her
own eyes, experiencing her prey’s “life flashing before their eyes” and
documenting these stories – so when it sputters out with only the weakest
EC-inspired comeuppance whimper, it’s doubly disheartening.

Were these student films or rank novices,
expectations might not have been so high, but the roster of talent on board
deserves a higher level of scrutiny, and as such, disappointment reigns.

When I saw that this critically reviled and underperforming horror
comedy had somehow appeared on the BIFFF 2012 programming lineup, I resigned myself
to chasing it down once I got back to the States, knowing as I did that it was
streaming on Ye Olde Netflixe. While it probably didn’t deserve its “official selection” status, it sure as heck wasn’t the shitestorm I was expecting.

Brandon Routh (star of Superman Returns, even though Routh didn’t) is the New Orleans-based titular investigator of paranormal criminal action (based on Tiziano
Sclavi’s comic series), and the actor does a serviceable job as the neo-noir
world-weary detective, chasing down vampires, werewolves and ’roid raging rogue
zombies in pursuit of Anita Briem’s monster hunting papa’s murderer.The mixture of practical effects and CGI are
actually handled quite well, and while there aren’t exactly thrills a-plenty,
the mystery aspects probably stack up against your standard episode of Supernatural. Where it falls down is in Thomas Dean
Donnelly and Joshua Oppenheimer’s hyper-jokey script and in Sam Huntington’s
Will Ferrell wannabe turn as Routh’s eager beaver partner saddled with the
lion’s share of the punchline shrieking.It’s too bad Munroe didn’t stick to the understated characterizations,
which play surprisingly well in the face of the mystical and fantastic
goings-on.

I know, I know, every Cabin review
starts off with “can’t say too much for fear of spoiling the surprises” and I
will honor that agreement.What I can
say is that as an entertaining deconstruction of horror films, you’d be hard
pressed to find a more compelling example of “intellectual popcorn.”Director Goddard co-wrote the clever script
with producer Joss Whedon as a response to the failure of American studios to
yield anything but torture porn and torturous remakes (appropriating the intellectual
properties of superior foreign efforts or capitalizing on name recognition from
the 70s/80s genre pool) and the duo’s witty dialogue is the sharpest tool in
their box.Which is not to dismiss the
pic’s florid production design or its capable cast of victims and antagonists
or the plentiful splatter, all of which suit the turn admirably.

But I cannot deny leaving the cinema feeling
slightly unfulfilled and it may just be a matter of personal taste; while I
certainly enjoyed the tweaking of genre conventions, especially by those
clearly in the know, at the end of the day I wished for genuine terror, horror
or revulsion.Instead, Goddard and
Whedon play at and around it, point up the ridiculousness of established
tropes, but never deliver an game-changing twist of the knife themselves.

It’s all good and fine to say there’s
something wrong with the state of affairs, but this is not news to the proud
and faithful genre fan.What we want is
to be shown the way to something new, something better… a desire that is left
unquenched.Not to say I wasn’t
entertained, but like many a tasty Chinese meal, I was eyeballing the menu
after the fortune cookies had come and gone, a place in my stomach still left
wanting.

On the eve of D-Day, New Zealand Army officer Craig Hall stumbles onto a bunker
inside the German-occupied Channel Islands only to find a lone Nazi soldier (Matthew Sunderland) and a female prisoner chained to the wall.But things are not, as you might guess, as they seem; dark activities
are afoot and the evil that men do occasionally resides in the form of
beautiful women (in this case Gina Varela).Impressive Weta Workshop makeup effects collude with fine performances,
the result being an impressively minimalistic horror effort that plays out very
much like a gory stage drama even if the central “mystery” is pretty easy to
figure out.

(Oh, and if I were the
filmmakers, I’d want to punch out whosever idea it was for the silly “chick in
Nazi uniform” DVD cover art.Not only is
it misleading, it’s not even good exploitation.)

Five medical school students of varying degrees of obnoxiousness embark on a extra credit field trip to an abandoned mining town supposedly haunted by the spirit of a vicious psychotic doc. It's your standard run-of-the-mill supernatural slasher, with some fair gore effects (and some less successful CGI ones), all done with a Spanish accent and in 3D (the preferred medium of slasher flicks these days, it seems).

Freshman Jennifer Ulrich discovers that her new dorm room has a dark past, one that seems to connect back to the mysterious disappearance of room 205's former occupant Julia Dietze whose video diary reveals a dark, violent sexual history. It's a worthwhile if unremarkable ghost story/body count flick, one that doesn't make too many demands on the viewer, and delivers the goods promised.

The final official screening of BIFFF 2012 and they could not have programmed it better. mad genius Iguchi (Machine Girl, Dead Sushi) blows it out his backside with this hilariously twisted spin on the walking dead, afflicting victims with genetically engineered tapeworms that overwhelm the consciousness and turn them into meat puppets. As the title might indicate, these being organisms that reside in the digestive system, there’s also the unfortunate gastrointestinal side effects of random defecation and wind breakage – yes, you’ve got a fleet of shambling, farting, crapping zombies who are as inclined to point their backside at you (so that the toothy parasite can infest a new host) as they are give your flesh a munch. If you hadn’t already guessed, none of this is to be taken too seriously, the pleasures lying in the massive body count and ridiculous splatter effects that befall the hyperactive ensemble. Not for everyone, but damned if that wasn’t one of the most enjoyable big screen viewing experiences I’ve ever had, and I’ve had a few.

A rough, raw and mystifying dissection of a crumbling marriage, but this is one domestic drama you’re not likely to see on the Lifetime channel. Scraping the same gut-level, non-realistic emotional scar-tissue terrain as Cronenberg’s The Brood or closer yet, Andrzej Zulawski’s Possession, the ferocity between former soul mates Nicolas Bro and Marijana Jankovic is so visceral it cannot be contained by a conventional narrative. Instead, it operates on a metaphorical level, depicting body-horror events (which may or may not be happening) that leave viewers reeling in disorientation and fascinated revulsion. It’s an incredible high-wire collaboration between writer/director Cristoffer Boe and his three leads (Nikolaj Lie Kaas is equally effective as Jankovic’s adulterous partner) – the onscreen events are defiantly ambiguous and non-realistic, but they perfectly nail the off-balance feeling of a once raging love now cooled. Recommended.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

Glenn Gould plays a disgraced Native American (Canadian) boxer now on the skids, picking up change from playground brawls later uploaded to the internet, is approached to kidnap teen addict Amanda Crew from the crackhouse lair she now calls home. We’ve seen this story before, but there are enough interesting character touches, mostly stemming from Gould’s character’s Indian background, that kept me involved. There are enough gruesome scenes of torture and seamy subtext to satisfy genre fans, and the performances are all quite notable. True, the low budget constraints occasionally show their true colors, but for the most part, it feels like a personal thriller that comes from co-writer/director Melski’s heart.

Awakening, The (2011) (1st viewing) d. Murphy, Nick (UK)A handsomely mounted period British ghost story (though, when are they not?) starring Rebecca Hall as a specter-debunking expert called to a beleaguered boys school where the terrified tots report seeing an ambulating apparition. Smartly scripted and well-acted, but my failure to be wowed stems from its covering such similar ground as The Orphanage, Haunted, Turn of the Screw, The Others, The Woman in Black, etc. yet never really distinguishing itself among them. No spoilers here, but it seems like the films listed above managed to bring something truly unique to the table – I’ll be very surprised if people are talking about this five years from now (much like this year's Woman in Black).

A young interpreter is brought to a top secret underground bunker to interview a political prisoner…only said prisoner turns out to be even more alien than she initially imagined. A really intriguing concept, but one that runs out of new ideas about halfway through, feverishly treading some pretty redundant and/or ridiculous water until it gets back on track for the final reveal. Would have benefitted from a smarter second act, but the two central performances by Ennio Fantastichini and Francesca Cuttica are very well realized and the end is a wingding. With a firm grip on the fast forward button, life should work out fine.

While there’s much to be admired in this microbudget flick about four guests of a UK social networking site caught in a psychotic mastermind’s elaborate “dream trip to New York” snare, the fact that it is so blatantly “Saw on a plane” diminishes the achievement considerably. From the “game” aspect to the Jigsaw-like modulated tones of the unseen antagonist (here dubbed “Alligator” in keeping with his cute cartoon avatar) to the “do this or you/he/she dies” scenarios presented to the hapless (and insufferably obnoxious) quartet, we’ve seen this picture at least a dozen times before, and it’s coming mighty late to the party. Crow hopefully earns his stripes here and will be rewarded with other, better scripts (I’m still shaking my head that four, count ‘em four screenwriters couldn’t come up with something less transparently derivative).

Another low-budget effort about a group of people trapped in a confined area (a prominent theme for the festival this year), stripped down to its barest bones with this single set, near real-time thriller about the titular flying box that gets stuck between floor with an impressive but not unbelievably diverse mix of individuals on board. Tensions predictably rise, but screenwriter/producer Marc Rosenberg has a few original tricks up his sleeve, and Svendsen keeps the energy and shocks clipping right along. The always welcome John Getz shares the screen with Chicago actor Joey Slotnik and a septet of others (including the long absent Shirley Knight), and suffice to say, things don’t turn out pretty as the best and worst in all comes to the fore.

Where did the Nazis go in 1945? To the moon, of course. Appro po of this deliriously energetic sci-fi comedy, little time is wasted on explanations or justifications and that is absolutely as it should be. Given circumstances, as insane as they might be, as accepted wholeheartedly, thanks to the conviction of the performances and the handsome production design, all marshaled by director Vuorensola’s giddy pace throughout. A lot of comedy is derived from political satire (such as the Sarah Palin-like U.S. President’s desperate angling for re-election), as well as a healthy absurdist stripe throughout, the most prominent running gag being Christopher Kirby’s African American astronaut-turned-Aryan homeless guy. It’s silly, it’s clever, it looks great, and even if it isn’t funny all of the time, the darn thing moves. Also notable for the fact that of its 7 million Euro budget, 1 million came directly from interested and invested fans themselves, easily one of the biggest consumer-based funding efforts in history and every penny of it appears onscreen with superb visual effects and art direction.

Mixed bag pressure cooker about an on-the-rocks couple (Cillian Murphy, Thandie Newton) taking a holiday on a remote Scottish isle, with tensions running high long before a mysterious and wounded soldier, played by Jamie Bell, appears on their doorstep, claiming a massive viral outbreak has occurred and commandeering their lodging. While the performances are all capable enough and there is a estimable amount of tension generated when Bell’s story’s starts to feel a little suspicious, the production is hamstrung by the fact that the “two men-one woman alone together” dynamic has been done to death, and there’s no new emotional ground unearthed here. Murphy is a milquetoast who eventually grows a pair when pushed far enough by the alpha male Bell, and Newton is alternately strong or shrieking, depending on the circumstances. The frequent lapses in motivation and resourcefulness left me fairly cold, but I should also state that Murphy and Newton rarely hit my sweet spot anyway, so it could be just personal taste.

A power outage strands a quartet of staff kitchen workers in an asylum for the criminally insane with the inmates freely roaming the halls. The prison riot scenario has been played out before, but darned if this doesn’t feel both fresh and tense, thanks to some well fleshed-out characters and well executed fleshy gore effects. Another fine low budget effort that uses its claustrophobic locations to their fullest extent.

When trailer park living nogoodnik Emile Hirsch decides to do away with his stash-stealing mom in the hopes of cashing in her insurance policy to pay off his debts, he seeks out the services of ice-cold lawman/hitman Matthew McConaughey to do the deed. Adapted by Tracy Letts from his own stage play, the story is opened up beyond the confines of the trailer home, which reduces some of the claustrophobia but one can understand why Letts and Friedkin might not want to repeat themselves having already covered similar geographic ground (Bug’s motel room). While the assembled cast are a worthy bunch (Thomas Haden Church, Gina Gershon, Juno Temple), the whiff of “Hollywood white trash” lingers over the proceedings in that these are clearly beautiful people trying to glam down for the project. Hirsch is the least successful of the bunch, never truly inhabiting his despicable character (a role originated 20 years ago onstage by a pitch-perfect Michael Shannon). Letts stays fairly true to his original text, and the stylized dialogue – think Mamet in the trailer park – has an artifice that never allows it to be truly immersive, but it’s still fascinating early material from the future Tony Award winner (August Osage County). On the whole, there’s enough to recommend the film, though like Bug before, it will likely prove divisive among viewers.

A group of attractive twentysomethings head off into a remote part of Switzerland in search of some hallucinogenic mushrooms. They encounter a father/daughter team of psychos. Rain soaked 3D slashing ensues. Though it shares a similar narrative to the Irish feature Shrooms, it’s a completely perfunctory but perfectly serviceable slasher flick. Its distinguishing traits? It's from Austria. And in 3D. That's about it.

A experimental drug testing group, under the observant eye of sexy doc Tricia Helfer (Battlestar Galactica’s Number 6), begins to experience some wicked little side effects…who woulda thunkit? But even if there aren’t a whole lot of surprises in this routine scenario, screenwriter David Nahmod and director Wostenberg’s scrappy little indie horror ensemble sink their teeth into the proceedings (literally, in several cases) and don’t let go. There’s some decent gore, the acting is passable, and one particularly ironic twist of the surgical knife that had me nodding my head in approval at Nahmod’s ingenuity. Bottom line, you could do worse.

The brains behind such Japanese splatter titles as Battlefield Baseball, Tokyo Gore Police, and Meatball Machine teams up with the maniacs at Sushi Typhoon for this over-the-top earth-shaking goregasm. More a collection of set-pieces than any kind of coherent plot, the storyline follows former baseball prodigy turned juvenile delinquent Tak Sakaguchi as he is forced to join the prison’s ball club. Given that Sakaguchi’s fastball explodes his father in the pre-credits sequence, this can only lead to a red sauce cornucopia, and Yamaguchi keeps the mayhem running at high speed and volume. (Even so, the slight story and exaggerated characters grow a little tiresome over the course of the 100-minute running time.)

Thursday, August 23, 2012

A serial killer (former Hercules star Kevin Sorbo) encounters more resistance than expected from his latest victim Valerie Azlynn, who turns out to have more on the ball and tricks in her toolbox than your average screaming mimi. Basically an extended battle scene between raging psychotic and scrappy Final Girl, one that, in spite of some memorable violent sequences and plot twists, wears a hole in the carpet with its endless running over the same ground for 90 minutes. Fun for a while, but then wears out its welcome – probably would have made a terrific half-hour short, as all the Karo syrup and CGI splatter in the world can’t cover up the padding here.

Working from a script by himself and bad boy novelist Jack Ketchum, McKee unfolds a haunting fairy tale about a feral female (Pollyanna McIntosh) captured by Sean Bridgers’ evil ogre of a family man, keeping her in his workshed while his complicit family pitches in to conceal and contain their new prize. There is some extreme, uncompromising violence and degradation on hand, but the real damage is inflicted on a psychological level (a Ketchum staple) with the weak-hearted preyed upon by the smiling monster dressed as Man. Great performances, and if taken as a mythic parable as opposed to realistic drama, it definitely goes down easier on a narrative level. One slight quibble: the jarring alt rock tune-filled soundtrack, which left me wondering if McKee was trying to fit in songs from every one of his friends who had a band.

This rare genre offering from Belgium presents a few novel twists on the well-worn “travelers off the beaten path” trope. After his car breaks down en route to the next holiday gig, low-rent crooner Laurent Lucas stumbles into a backwards backwoods community devoid of women. Taking shelter at Jackie Berroyer's nearby inn, he soon finds himself captive in a nightmarish scenario that manages to surprise and unnerve without resorting to eviscerations. Kudos to director du Welz, who co-wrote the script with Romain Protait, for his skillful evocation of dread-filled atmospherics, as well as one of the strangest dance sequences ever to pass through a camera lens. Watch for appearances from Eurobabe Brigette Lahaie and High Tension’s Phillipe Nahon.

The first midnight offering of BIFFF 2012 bears the distinction of being Taiwan’s vanguard (and at this point) only full-scale zombie feature. Unfortunately, other than that, there isn’t a whole lot of distinction to be had, since it’s pretty much just another high-energy undead flick pitting cops and gangsters against the shambling hordes. The characters range from silly (a bon mot-tossing American free runner) to thoroughly unpleasant (a nauseating nutjob holding half a dozen women – and another handful of zombies – captive in his basement). The makeups (especially on our aforementioned sadist, who looks like nothing more than someone wearing a latex mask, complete with visible seams) and zombie characters are another mixed bag, evoking as much eyeball-rolling as thrilled gasps. Bottom line, with the exception of the main druglord’s arm’s balloon/squid prosthetics, there’s nothing here you haven’t seen before and better.

In the wake of a nuclear attack on the U.S., a disparate group of apartment dwellers take refuge in Michael Biehn’s basement shelter, creating a petri dish of human interaction. As one might imagine, things do not go smoothly: tempers flare, might makes right, and the thin veneer of social cordiality slips away as food and water rations dwindle.

The performances are strong across the board in an ensemble that also includes Courtney B. Vance, Lauren German, A History of Violence’s Ashton Holmes, Rosanna Arquette (in probably the most demanding, least glamorous role of her career) and breakout star Michael Eklund who should enjoy a bump in visibility following his charismatic villainous turn here. Unfortunately, there are gaping logistical holes in Karl Mueller and Eron Sheean’s script, and much of the characters’ behavior does not ring true considering the circumstances – one of those many occurences where people only act the way they would if they were in a movie. Not to say that humanity’s ugly side wouldn’t show its face; if anything, it seems to take far too long for things to head south with this particular grouping of individuals.

If you’re able to switch off your brain and simply revel in the theatre of human cruelty and degradation, there are rewards to be had, but only if.

Based on a classic cautionary legend, Switzerland’s first big budget horror effort is a doozy. A feral woman (Rubber’s Roxane Mesquida) shows up in a mountain village following a priest’s suicide, sparking a wave of dread throughout the god-fearing citizens. Police lieutenant Nicholas Ofczarec dodges the hysteria and ends up falling for the mysterious girl left in his care, though flashbacks to her experiences with a trio of mountain farmers hint that she may not be as innocent as she seems.

While there is a serious stripe of sexual violence throughout, a device I usually find to be a tiresome and lazy means of eliciting sympathy for and/or vilifying characters, the rape scenes here go beyond mere cinematic shorthand, leaving us miles from the standard revenge pic. Steiner and co-writers Stefanie Japp and Michael Sauter also walk an intriguing line between twisted realism and supernatural goings-on, one that never quite resolves itself (for better or worse depends upon the viewer, I suppose – I would have preferred a slightly less obtuse resolution).

A superbly realized production, one that hopefully will soon find its way to DVD in spite of its unwieldy title.

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Howdy, kids! Yep, it’s been nearly two whooooooole weeks since the 21-day flurry of Fantasia, and how best to celebrate the reprieve from the madness? Why, watching a boatload of flicks, of course! The difference being that I was able to resume my regular role of program director, actually choosing the features to watch on any given day. Considering I’d been sitting on a pile of flicks both borrowed and queued (including a Nicholas Winding Refn triple feature), it wasn’t hard to fill the slots and the time.

No surprise, Kitley’s Krypt dictated a few of my choices, fulfilling my Kryptic Army assignment for July (giant monsters) as well as joining my fellow blood brothers and sisters in celebrating the great man’s birthday, breaking in Jon’s new backyard DVD projector and movie screen with a gooey double feature complete with sing-a-long cards and trivia prizes. Such a wonderful gathering of food, friends and fun, one that came hard upon the awesomeness that was Flashback Weekend/Wizard World Comic-Con. I love this town. (Blessings to Jason Coffman as well, for his generosity in lending out an array of recent fright fare.)

As always, feel free to leave your two cents worth – we’ll make sure you get some change back.

Enjoy!

HORROR:

Creature (2011) (1st viewing) d. Andrews, Fred M. (USA)

A sextet of young dumb pretty ones heading for New Orleans take a detour to visit a tourist trap attraction concerning a half man/half alligator swamp legend known as Grimley. After a brief encounter with grizzled storekeeper Sid Haig (aka Captain Spaulding goes South) and cronies, they discover the fabled cabin in the woods and foolishly decide to camp nearby. Exploitation and evisceration ensue. Roll credits. Considering the amount of rage and bile spewed in its direction upon release last year, I was fully expecting this to be absolute torture to sit through. But with dialed down expectations and a firm beer n’ pizza mindset, Fred Andrews’ directorial debut (co-scripted with Tracy Morse) proves entirely watchable, with plenty of boobs, blood and beasts to go around. Is the mossy monster clearly a guy in a suit? Sure. Are the characters lame? Yes. Is the happy ending ridiculous? Absolutely. Are there more than a couple logistical leaps and skeevy character quirks? Ayup. And yet, and yet... While I would never call it a “good” movie, I’ve certainly seen less done with more. It’s puzzling that fans can get all gooey over “old school” throwbacks like Hatchet and its goddawful sequel, but substitute a mutated Gator Man for Victor Crowley and the goodwill spirals down the drain.

One look at the directors’ credits should tell you what you’re in for. Yes, the comedy team of Fred Olen Ray and Jim Wynorski, those purveyors of energetic, bouncy, low budget fun, ride the Jurassic Park gravy train with a bevy of bountiful babes who just can’t seem to keep their clothes on and “dinosaurs genetically engineered and trained by” f/x whiz John Carl Buechler. (Read as: hand puppets and a smattering of dodgy stop motion animation. If the T-Rex seems a little familiar, you probably saw it in 1993’s Carnosaur.) The anemic plot: a small military plane containing hard-nosed Ross Hagen and a shiftless trio of brig-bound bozos (Richard Gabai, Peter Spellos, Tom Shell) crash lands on an uncharted island inhabited entirely by prehistoric beasts and fur bikini-wearing beauts (namely Michelle Bauer, Antonia Dorian, Griffin Drew, Toni Naples and Nikki Fritz). After a series of (un)wisecracking misadventures – Gabai’s “witty” retorts will wear out your throwing arm – the boobs pair off with the babes and the film’s remaining run time trades between episodes of fleshy canoodling and flesh eating carnivores. Classic late-night Skinemax entertainment the way it used to be done.

Exit Humanity (2011) (1st viewing) d. Geddes, John (Canada)

There’s little denying the skilled craftsmanship of writer/director Geddes’ civil war zombie flick – the opening sequence alone, wherein Brian Cox soberly intones the narration of a recently discovered journal, immediately vanquishes any thoughts of just another DIY gutmuncher. With a sepia-drenched color palette and vivid animated montages detailing survivor Mark Gibson’s adventures amongst the walking dead, the film’s subtitle of “A Zombie Saga” bear no trace of hyperbole; this is more thoughtful survivalist drama than thrill ride horror flick. Yet, even approached with that mindset, it’s hard to defend the excessive 113-minute running time considering that the character-based yarn takes Cox’s laconic phrasings as its internal metronome and is peopled with stock types as opposed to empathetic individuals. Among the several fan faves on hand, Bill Moseley and Dee Wallace turn in subtle, nuanced work as a twisted general and a soothsayer, respectively, but their characters are too hastily sketched to make much of an impression. (By contrast, Stephen McHattie seems to be memorizing lines for another project during his brief mumbling screen time as a field medic.) The film rests squarely upon the shoulders of capable but limited newcomer Gibson whose frequent cries of anguish are indistinguishable from his frequent cries of anger or frequent cries of attack. An impressive but muted effort, inspiring more admiration at its innovative approach than genuine enthusiasm.

Loved Ones, The (2009) (1st viewing) d. Byrne, Sean (Australia)

Long-haired metalhead Xavier Samuel, traumatized by the violent death of his father, spends his final high school days in a haze of reefer smoke and tender embraces of trying-to-be-patient girlfriend Victoria Thaine. Little does he guess that his affections are the crown which malevolent wallflower Robin McLeavy aspires to wear…by any means necessary. Superb gore effects – some explicit, some implied – accent a wealth of fine performances, with McLeavy and perverted pater John Brumpton taking top marks while the quaintly comic mispairing of loveable loser Richard Wilson and goth hottie Jessica McNamee perfectly offsets the madness. Since its triumphant debut at the Toronto International Film Festival in 2009, this wickedly twisted “John Hughes meets torture porn” treat from Down Under has been laboring to find its way Stateside. After a semi-successful TUGG release this summer, whereby fans lobbied to have the film screened in their communities, U.S. horror geeks will finally be able to check out the candy colored carnage for themselves. (Paramount has announced a BR/DVD release date of Sept 11.) Highly recommended.

Monster Brawl (2011) (1st viewing) d. Cook, Jesse, T. (Canada)

Turgid monster mash by way of Spike TV programming that should have been a LOT more fun considering its outlandish premise: top monsters (Frankenstein’s Monster, Wolfman, Witch, Zombie, Swamp Creature, etc.) duke it out in a cemetery-set wrestling ring. The ringside patter provided by Dave Foley, Art Hindle and “Mouth from the South” Jimmy Hart rarely inspires more than a grudging grunt, and the underwhelming flying fiendish fisticuffs are snoozy and stale (with the exception of the climactic match-up’s final sanguinary moments). Decent creature makeups by The Brother Gore (Jeff and Jason Derushie, who also doled out the grue for Exit Humanity), but in the service of an uninspired narrative that never rises above its gimmicky set-up. All slop, no smarts.

Some Guy Who Kills People (2011) (1st viewing) d. Perez, Jack (USA)

Intriguing black comedy starring Kevin Corrigan as a slovenly ice cream parlor employee (recently released from the loony bin) whose former childhood bullies suddenly meet violent ends all around him. The vividly staged murders serve as punctuation marks to scenes of Corrigan dealing with less splattery aspects of life, which include meeting his estranged daughter Ariel Gade, dating quirky-cute Brit Lucy Davis, and attempting to appease caustic mom Karen Black. Barry Bostwick nearly runs away with the flick as a nattering sheriff whose knack for understatement and obsession with the mundane are among the many gems provided by screenwriter Ryan A. Levin. Sweet, quirky and affably enjoyable fare, adjectives not usually ascribed to a flick where limbs and red stuff fly with such abandon.

Thinner (1996) (2nd viewing) d. Holland, Tom (USA)

After rotund lawyer Robert John Burke accidentally runs down an aged gypsy woman in the street, the victim’s father attacks the barrister (and those who colluded with him to avoid justice) with a terrifying wasting black magic curse. Despite medical testing and a literal all-consuming diet, Burke’s pounds keep slipping off until, frantic at the skeletal prospects, he enlists former mobster client Joe Mantegna to track down the vengeful mystic and his saucy slingshot wielding granddaughter (Kari Wuhrer). The same year Rick Baker turned Eddie Murphy into the charmingly obese Sherman Klump for The Nutty Professor update, Oscar-winning makeup legend Greg Cannom tried his hand at inflating (and deflating) his star to more sinister effect…with less success. But under Tom Holland’s surprisingly garish direction, the whole affair is as blatantly artificial and cartoonish as Burke’s latex induced triple chin; a shame since what is called for (and what worked to such fine effect in Stephen King’s source novel) is shadowy mystery and creepy atmosphere rather than eye-rolling C-grade performances and in-your-face gross-outs. Disappointing, especially considering the talent involved.

KITLEY’S KRYPT DRIVE-IN DOUBLE FEATURE: WHOEVER WINS, WE OOZE

Blob, The (1958) (3rd viewing) d. Yeaworth, Jr., Irvin S. (USA)

Considered by many the quintessential drive-in flick of the ’50s due to a memorably amorphous monster, Burt Bacharach’s hit title song and an unabashed “adults just don’t understand” message aimed squarely at its under-25 audience base. Future Hollywood superstar Steve McQueen (billed as “Steven”) might well have never graduated to the big time had producer Jack Harris’ film not been such a roaring success at the turnstiles – truth be told, the King of Cool comes off pretty mannered and awkward in his first starring role and his so-not-teenaged castmates don’t help matters. Luckily, the reddish-hued creepin’ leapin’ glidin’ slidin’ menace from space generates a venerable amount of fright factor as it oozes under doors, cruises around corners and swallows victims whole. Any scenes featuring Bart Sloane’s Blob effects are easily the highlights, especially Olin Howlin’s initial wooded encounter with the extraterrestrial goop, a doctor’s office attack and most memorably, the gooey assault on a packed movie house (screening the 1955 classic Daughter of Horror), an event revisited yearly at the annual Blobfest in Phoenixville, PA.

Green Slime, The (1968) (3rd viewing) d. Fukasaku, Kinji (Japan)

From the opening drum fill of Charles Fox’s mind-blowing funk rock theme to Ekisu Productions’ unforgettable screeching cyclopean beasties, this Japanese sci-fi effort (employing an entirely Western cast) benefits from high energy pace alongside an unabashedly pulpy narrative. A meteor on collision course with Earth is diverted thanks to a explosive -planting mission to the projectile’s surface (a plot device Michael Bay would later co-opt for 1998’s big-bam-boom Armageddon). While the plan is successful, a globule of the titular pulsing sludge hitches a ride within a spacesuit’s folds to the local space station; worse, the floating city’s decontamination process boosts the alien life form’s growth pattern, evolving the spongy green foam into red-eyed tentacled creatures capable of emitting lethal electronic shocks. Headlined by square-jawed, impeccably coiffed hero Robert Horton and Richard Jaeckel’s blue-eyed blue-collar captain – each vying for impossibly eyelashed stunner Luciana Paluzzi’s affections – Fukusaka’s action-packed space melodrama juices its corny kiddie sci-fi fare trappings with effective scenes of claustrophobia and a surprisingly high (and graphic) body count. (The director would achieve lasting infamy three decades later with his epic adaptation of the taboo-smashing, kids-killing-kids manga, Battle Royale.)

CIVILIAN MINI-VIEWS:

Aggression Scale, The (2012) (1st viewing) d. Miller, Steven C. (USA)

Dana Ashbrook’s no-nonsense hit man targets the family who made off with former alumni Ray Wise’s mob money, not counting on the sociopathic tendencies of youngest sibling Ryan Hartwig (whose survival skills conjure a much bloodier – and equally improbable – version of Home Alone). Director Miller keeps the pace jacked such that the thrills outrun the logic police and seeing Twin Peaks alumni Wise and Ashbrook sharing scenes with “new F13 Jason” Derek Mears offers its own distinct pleasures.

French Connection, The (1971) (3rd viewing) d. Friedkin, William (USA)

The Oscar winning cops n’ robbers flick is deservedly famous for its showstopping sequence of Gene Hackman’s hardcase “Popeye” Doyle pursuing an elevated NYC train from the streets below. But it’s a set-piece that often overshadows the rest of the superlatively suspenseful proceedings: a tense cat n’ mouse tailing sequence, an on again/off again subway platform dazzler, tossing a bar full of unsavory characters, the meticulous dismantling of a automobile in search of concealed drugs, and so on. Worth revisiting and often.

Mean Creek (2004) (1st viewing) d. Estes, Jacob Aaron (USA)

A clear-eyed, dark-hearted examination of adolescent bullying, crime and punishment, and best laid plans gone awry. When pipsqueak Rory Culkin is targeted by slovenly brute Josh Peck, his older brother and friends lend their hands to a scheme to teach the entitled thug a lesson. Writer/director Estes takes viewers on a haunting rollercoaster ride, rocketing around emotional dips and curves – impressive considering the youthful ensemble, all of whom tender fully realized portraits.

Melancholia (2011) (1st viewing) d. von Trier, Lars (Denmark)

On the von Trier menu this year: A rogue planet, extravagant wedding, epic depression, stable of horses, stunning cinematography comprised of both urgent handheld and lyrical compositions, achingly gorgeous classical music, star-studded first act stripped down to a four-hander at the halfway point, complete undressed Hollywood A-listers, terrific atmospheric effects, symbolism less heady than Anti-Christ but headier than Dogland, Kirsten Dunst, Alexander Skarsgard, Charlotte Gainsbourg, John Hurt, Charlotte Rampling, Stellan Skarsgard, Udo Kier and the end of the world. I liked it a lot and I’m okay if you didn’t – it’s that kind of flick.

Popatopolis (2009) (1st viewing) d. Westervelt, Clay (USA)

Complementing the usual “filmmaker as subject” tropes of talking heads and film clips (behold the recent Corman’s World), Westervelt’s documentary on low-budget exploitationeer Jim Wynorski also offers a from-the-trenches glimpse of the artist in action (on the set of 2000’s title-says-it-all The Bare Wench Project). Trying to wrap a feature in three days presents its own challenges, but Wynorski’s brusque no-nonsense approach further stymies his “actresses” who are used to having makeup artists, rehearsals or, oh, a finished script. Through the bellowing and chaos, the microbudget maestro comes off as a passionate cinephile who endeavors to at least cut the corners in semi-interesting ways.

Even having not seen the previous Pusher installments, I never felt lost or wanting, so well realized is this day-in-the-life portrait of drug dealing Milo (Zlatko Buric) who tries to stay clean himself even as he attempts to move 10,000 ecstasy tablets, wrestles with fears of food poisoning while prepping a 50-head meal to celebrate his daughter’s 25th birthday, and indebts himself to unseemly types with a sinister sense of recompense. The rumble-voiced Buric is never less than electrifying and empathetic, even as he allows his emotions to makes epic errors in judgment. Grittty, grimy, sleazy, breezy, stunning, cunning and cool.

Mesmerizing six-part existential tone poem that tracks a savage Viking warrior (Mads Mikkelsen) after he escapes from bondage as a competitive fighter and crosses paths with a roving band of Christians bent on joining the Crusades and discovering a new Holy Land. Reminiscent of Werner Herzog’s Aguirre, The Wrath of God and Fitzcarraldo, Refn and co-screenwriter Roy Jacobsen weave bloody, bone-crushing action sequences within static contemplations of epic landscapes of wild flora and weathered faces, a magnificent blend of stark imagery and sparser dialogue.

Drive (2011) (2nd viewing) d. Refn, Nicolas Winding (USA)

Confronting and confounding expectations at every turn, what could have been a cliché-riddled story about a criminal loner falling for a pretty girl becomes something wholly original. Ryan Gosling continues to stretch as an actor, dialing down his emotional reactions to a near-whisper in his portrayal of an aspiring stunt/race/getaway driver, and the rest of the cast (which includes Bryan Cranston, Albert Brooks, Carey Mulligan and Ron Perlman) is ready to play. Amazing soundtrack, surprisingly graphic bloodshed combined with wickedly unconventional and stylized action sequences are the tools in Refn’s case, winning him the Best Director award at Cannes last year.

About Me

Well, during the day I move among you as mild-mannered Aaron Christensen, Chicago actor. But at night, when the popcorn pops full, I transform into my alternate personality Dr. AC, hopeless horror movie nerd-cum-Ambassador of Horror.
However, despite my inclination to discuss monsters that pervade, aliens that invade, creatures of the night, vampires that bite...I'm actually the nicest guy you'll ever meet.